Clockwork
by heteroceric-heart
Summary: There’s a reason why we’re not allowed to stay dead. There’s a reason why I was able to find you again. And there’s sure as hell a reason why you’re sitting here, listening to me, instead of running out that door like someone with a scrap of sanity would.


A/N: Whew! I hadn't planned this to be so long, but it just kept insisting on growing. This sat in my "unfinished files" for a good two months, and it had only been about a page long. Then, suddenly, I knew what I wanted to do with it. Endlessly looping Cobra Starship's song "One Day, Robots Will Cry" really helped jumpstart it, too, and nudged it in a different direction. I'm fairly pleased with how it turned out. As always, please review. My Triad information might be a little faulty, so please correct me if I made a mistake. Also, I would like to know if the current format is pleasant, or if the story would seem less dauting if divided into chapters.

...

**mimetic** \mim-ET-ik\

_adjective_:  
**1.** Apt to imitate; given to mimicry; imitative.  
**2.** Characterized by mimicry; -- applied to animals and plants; as, "mimetic species; mimetic organisms."

* * *

**Clockwork**

_He forced himself to pick up his feet one step at a time; the water and the exhaustion were beginning to weigh on him. As he stood on the precipice, a drop of water fell from his sodden tunic to the water below. The small, almost immeasurable sound stretched and echoed until it filled the cavern completely. As he listened to the sound dwindle and die, he let out a sigh under his breath. He was starting to get tired of this. He hated constantly running back and forth between levels and the maddening, dangerous puzzles always impeding his path. He couldn't count the number of times he'd almost been mortally wounded. There never seemed to be any respite from it all, either, and as much as he would like to stop for a moment and take a rest, he knew he couldn't. After all, it was partly his fault this had happened in the first place, and he aimed to fix the mistake._

_His dripping clothes felt heavy against him and made the chainmail beneath stick uncomfortably to his skin. He tried to pull away the armor from his wet skin, but it just flopped back with a dull clink. Idly, he wondered if the metal was rusting from being submerged in water for so long. He really didn't know how long he'd been here, as there was no way to keep track of the days without the sun to guide him. All he knew was he was tired, cold, and wet; still, he was beginning to annoy himself with all the complaining he was doing. He'd better just get on with this. Maybe once he got back into the sunlight he'd feel less melancholic. _

_Forcing himself to remain sharp and focused, he opened the next door._

_For a moment, he was confused, and he almost wondered if he'd fallen asleep somehow. The room was dreamlike and certainly didn't seem to belong in the middle of a temple. Shallow, colorless water lapped gently against an island in the middle of the room. A single tree, devoid of leaves and life, was the only other distinctive feature of the room. There seemed to be no walls surrounding the room, and a sort of gray sky stretched out infinitely above him. Something about the strange place unsettled him, and Link almost wanted to turn back. However, he knew he had to press further on into the temple in order to eradicate the evil, and he would have to cross to the other side of this room in order to do that. _

_He took one cautious step after the other, trying to suppress the splashes his feet made in the water. His eyes scanned the room thoroughly as he crossed to the door at the other end. There didn't seem to be any enemies present, but he'd long since learned that meant nothing; the hidden ones were always the most dangerous. _

_Besides, the hairs on the back of his neck insisted on standing straight up, so he knew he wasn't alone. _

_He made it to the door unscathed, and for a moment he faltered. Surely it wouldn't be this easy? Maybe he'd just been reacting to the cumulative stress, exhaustion, and tension that these excursions always provided. For one hopeful moment, he attempted to open the door. His instincts, however, had proven correct; the door would not open, and he could hazard a guess why that was. _

_He tightened his grip on his sword, more out of pure frustration than anything else. He did _not_ like the evil things that crawled in these temples, and they only seemed to grow in number and power each time. His jaw clenched and his knuckles white against the blue of the hilt, he whirled around to look behind him. _

_Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been this. _

* * *

The bar was a living thing. Its alternative-rock heartbeat pulsed steadily through the furniture and people occupying the room, leaving lyrical traces of broken romances on the lips of dark-eyed dancers. The gyrating and synchronized shuffling of skin-tight clothing, inhaling and sighing like asthmatic lungs, gave the illusion of breathing to those who cared to listen. The click of high-heeled shoes on a sticky, beer-coated floor might have seemed out of place next to these organic sounds; it was a metal screw driven into a broken bone.

The predictable taps, hitting in time with the music, held a very clear significance to Angela, though. It was the promise that all other sounds would soon end. It was the metronomic ticking of seconds that could never be reclaimed. It was the inevitable progression of time, the lurking decay that haunted the blood of every life.

Well, perhaps not _every_ life.

Angela knew her share about time, and she knew exceptions existed even within its rigid clockwork. There were times when the machinery would falter, when the minute hand would click back and forth between two minutes endlessly.

Oh yes, Angela knew her share about _time_.

Brooding on these thoughts, she took another sip of her drink. It didn't have a name, what she'd ordered. All she knew was that it consisted of several brands of alcohol, and she thought she tasted the acid sting of orange juice as she let it rest on her tongue. She hadn't really cared about how it tasted; she'd just wanted alcohol. In a way, she was also pleased that her concoction didn't bear a name. Names had never really mattered very much to her.

As a model in the fashion industry, this might have seemed contradictory to her nature. Names were what made their business what it was. It was the name branded on a piece of clothing that drove people to empty their wallets to own the garment. It was the name of a famous designer or photographer attached to a model that made them successful in the industry.

But Angela knew better. Very few of those names were real, she surmised. It was very simple for a model to change her name from what it really was, and she doubted it was much harder for anyone else. She lived in a world of lies, as cliché and dramatic as that sounded. Authors, models, actors…the list went on. They all hid behind false personas in order to protect their real life, the child they had been in an easier time.

Her own name, in fact, was a mask. Her modeling name was Monique Dubois, which was a far cry from Angela Webber. Even that name, the name her mother had given her at birth, was not who she really was. Her true name was a secret, belonging to a different time, but it was _hers_ while she continued to live…for however long a time that was.

She was startled out of her reverie as a man sat on the barstool to her right. Out of the corner of her eye, she took stock of who this blonde-haired stranger was. He wore dark clothing: a long, black overcoat and gray-washed blue jeans. Something about him screamed familiarity, and she knew she would know him if she saw his eyes. She couldn't see much of his face without being overtly obvious, though, so she controlled herself. She continued to quietly watch him as he slowly peeled off a pair of black leather gloves.

With a casualness that implied intention, he laid his left hand within her line of sight. She had to suppress a sharp intake of air as she recognized the hand and the symbol resting on it.

With a soft, dangerous voice, he greeted her. "Hello, Zelda."

* * *

_Standing in front of him, almost like a reflection in murky water, stood a mirror version of himself. They seemed to have the exact same physical build, and the creature was even standing just like he was. The only differentiating factor was the creature's hue; it was as if he had been replicated, and this half had been dipped in shadow. _

_Snapping himself out his thoughts, he feinted toward the right. The shadow parroted his move exactly. He charged forward, swinging his sword in a vertical slash, only to have his blade blocked by its dark brother. A mixture of adrenaline and burgeoning fright heated his blood, and he swung again. Again, his shadow met his move effortlessly, almost mockingly._

_He stepped back and glared at his dark incarnation. The shadow smiled tauntingly back. He supposed this was another one of Ganondorf's tricks, like the phantom Ganon he had met in the forest temple. He wished the Gerudo King would stop spending so much energy hiding behind his puppets and actually engage in the fight. _

_A low chuckle rippled from his reflection, echoing eerily through the chamber. "You think the King of Evil created me? How very stereotypical of you, Link. Evil begets evil; is that right? Is that the logic you live on? The world isn't black and white, you know. It's not always so simple as evil and good… So, I'd tell you where I come from, who created me, but I'm afraid the truth might disappoint you. You might be forced to live outside your monochromatic world."_

_He just stared at the dark creature, stunned. What was going on? How did it know his name? Could this thing read his mind? Was that how it seemed to know all his moves before he made them? _

_Another amused laugh spilled from the shadow's throat. "I'm not reading your mind. It's actually far simpler than that. You're really making this out to be more difficult than it is. You see, I don't have to read my own thoughts, Link."_

_He was sick of the mind-games, or whatever this thing was trying to do. He shouldn't have let himself get distracted. Trying to keep his mind blank, he charged again and again at the shadow. His attacks proved fruitless, though, whatever he tried. Even though he was frustrated by lack of success, he did not let himself become stupid with rage. If he took his time, he was sure he could defeat this strange phantom. _

_Like a phantom, though, his adversary suddenly disappeared. He strained his ears to hear where the creature was, but all he heard were gentle, ghostly waves._

_Suddenly, a sharp, agonizing pain split down the back of his arm. Instinctively, he cradled the injured arm and spun around to face his attacker. He could feel warm blood welling through his tunic, and he gritted his teeth against the sting of the wound. _

_His shadow was watching the blood drip off his blade; he lifted the sword to his face and licked it off with a black tongue. "First blood is mine," he crowed, licking his lips mockingly._

_His mind burning with disgust and anger, he charged toward the dark phantom, swinging his sword quickly and precisely. He could tell that his shadow's nonchalance was beginning to fester with irritation as the attacks continued relentlessly. Slice after slice, stab after stab; they met each other at each blow._

_Suddenly, he rolled behind the shadow and cut sharply upward. He heard the creature hiss in pain at the strike, and it disappeared again. _

_"You're more devious than I'd given you credit for. I thought I'd received all the deception, but I suppose the Goddesses didn't do their job as well as they'd thought," the creature's voice said, humming somewhere underneath the waves. _

_Goddesses? He thought, unable to stop his mind from asking questions. What do they have to do with this?_

_The shadow rose out of the water before him, attempting to catch him off guard. He parried the strike, though, as he was beginning to learn the creature's patterns. As they stood there, blades locked against each other, he saw a wicked smile cut into the phantom's face._

_"The Goddesses are the ones who created me, dear Link."_

* * *

Zelda took another sip of her drink in order to calm herself; her hand shook as she raised the glass to her lips. She barely registered as the burning liquid scorched its way down her trachea. Instead, her eyes were fixated on the man next to her. He beckoned the bartender close and quietly ordered a scotch on the rocks. He waited, not even looking at her while he did so, as his drink was prepared. It was only after he'd paid for the alcohol, downed half the glass' contents, and set his drink on the counter that he looked at her.

They never seemed to change, either of them. It didn't matter how many lifetimes they went through; she suspected they would always be the same, only wrapped in different identities. His eyes were still as blue as they'd been a thousand years ago, and she knew she looked just as familiar to him. Now, as she met his sempiternal eyes, she knew that time meant nothing, names meant nothing.

They would always be Link and Zelda.

That was their blessing.

That was their curse.

Neither of them had spoken, and the silence was beginning to wear on her. Lamely, she began, "It's been awhile, hasn't it?" She uncrossed and crossed her legs in nervousness, turning her attention to her drink once more.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Don't you think that's a bit of an understatement?"

As if on their own volition, her eyes flickered to the mark on his left hand. The black ink stained his skin ominously, its sinuous lines spelling a warning for whoever knew its significance. This new development was a testament to just how large of an understatement she'd made. "You're serving the Triad, I see," she stated, naming the crime syndicate that was steadily conquering the United Kingdom.

He nodded, lifting the scotch to his lips and taking a swig. He swirled the infinitesimal amount of alcohol remaining, and ice cubes clinked against the glass. He stared at it thoughtfully. "Killing's the only thing I know. And you should know _that_ better than anyone else."

His sidelong gaze was not in any way accusatory, but Zelda felt herself flushing with shame. He would make sure she never forgot what she'd done to him, what she'd asked him to become. He'd never say it out loud, never directly blame her, but that made it all the worse. He never asked her to apologize, and so she was never allowed to. She was forced to keep her guilt within her breast, letting it devour her from the inside out.

"Why are you here, Link?" she asked with a sigh.

He slammed his glass on the counter and turned sideways to face her. "Because there's a reason why we're not allowed to stay dead. There's a reason why, out of the six billion people populating the earth, I was able to find you again. And there's sure as hell a reason why you're sitting here still, listening to me, instead of running out that door like someone with a scrap of sanity would," he explained, his voice low and harsh. There seemed to be a sort of nameless fury held within his clenched fist, but she only saw a demand for answers as his eyes met hers again. "You shouldn't know me, Zelda. I shouldn't know you, shouldn't even know your name; we've never met before in this lifetime. But somehow, neither of us are strangers."

Zelda was silent for a moment, turning to the side and averting her eyes; she needed to think on what he'd said, and she needed respite from his blistering gaze.

It had started, in this lifetime, with dreams. No matter the circumstances of her sleep, she'd always dreamt of Hyrule, even when she was a child. She hadn't known that her dreams were peculiar, that it was unusual to having such vivid, serialized visions. Hyrule, her dream-world, was as much a part of her life as reality. It, inevitably, merged with her physical life. Sometimes when she'd been playing, she'd stop herself before doing something reckless. She would chide herself: what would Impa think? Then, grinning, she would rush into the action, excused by reasoning: what would Link do?

Link…he had been one of the few constants in her dreams. No matter what lands her mind traveled to in her subconscious, he was always there. Sometimes he looked different, but he was, at the core, the same man who sat next to her right now.

Zelda wasn't sure when she'd accepted the dreams were real, were something closer to memories. The appearance of Link tonight had cinched her suspicions, but she'd been confident of her assumption even before she'd met him.

She had done some research on reincarnation after developing her theory. She had scoured history and lore books for some mention of Hyrule. She had poured over texts with painstaking attention, searching for anything connected to her past lives.

For that's what the memories represented: lives. The shifting visions showed her each of her lifetimes, and she wasn't even sure she could count them all. She, or at least her memories, could very well be thousands of years old.

And, sometime in her search, "she" became Zelda. There was no longer a search for answers, or puzzlement about the visions. They were all simply unquestionable pieces of who she was; they were a dusty, forgotten photo album that she'd just rediscovered.

With the memories, too, came other things. Feelings of pain, glory, regret, exultation, terror, love, hatred, and so much more would leak from those vivid images. Sometimes, the lingering emotion from a memory would stay with her for weeks, haunting her waking mind.

Sometimes, she would just curl up on her bed, motionless, and attempt to swallow thousands of years' worth of humanity.

"Did you have dreams, too?" she asked, gathering the courage to look in his eyes again.

He didn't seem surprised by her question; it just seemed to affirm something he'd already figured out. "Yes, although I didn't know what they were at first. It took me awhile to accept what they really were, to realize who I really was." He paused, tapping his fingers against the perspiring glass, and looked at Zelda searchingly. "I think it's interesting that you call them dreams."

His tone caused Zelda to react defensively, "And why is that?"

He, sliding his empty glass down the counter, ordered another scotch. He waited to answer Zelda until he'd taken a satisfying drink from his refilled glass. His lips lingered on the rim, and a tight, humorless smile broke on his face. "I always thought of them as nightmares."

* * *

_Unintentionally, he glanced at the glowing triangle on his left hand, that most precious of gifts from the Goddesses. He was on the deities' side; why would they create something as disconcerting and deadly as this shadow-self for him to face?_

"_They never intended for us to fight, if that will ease your conscience. But they did create me; they created me and then promptly discarded me. Ganondorf simply breathed life into their cast-off trash."_

_He narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on his shield. He wasn't going to listen to this ridiculous phantom anymore. These statements were just a tactic to distract him, to make his mind preoccupied with lies. _

_The shadow crossed its arms and lifted a coal-black eyebrow. "If it will help, I suppose you could blame it on Ganondorf. That's what all you righteous heroes seem to like to do. After all, he was essentially the reason why I came into being."_

_With a sharp feint to the left, he charged at the creature's right side, attempting to stab his blade in its side. The shadow blocked it, though, and wagged a finger chidingly. "Now, now. Be nice." It laughed again, as if to a secret joke, and then continued, "Don't pretend you're not interested. You're really hooked now; I can tell. I should prolong telling my story because of your little trick, but I'm feeling generous. Would you like to know why Ganondorf inspired my birth? Just give a nod, yes or no."_

_Despite himself, he felt his head curtly nod "yes" once. _

"_Good. Well, the Goddesses were afraid of what happened with Ganondorf, you see. The Triforce is an incredible power. Few human minds can even posses one piece without going insane. Ganondorf, when he received the Triforce of Power, was able to stay sane…but just barely. And within his mental confusion, something…strange…happened. The Triforce of Power fed on his anguish, and the balance within him was upset. All of his dark desires and iniquitous emotions were fueled tenfold by his piece of the Triforce, suppressing all of the "good" in his heart. He became something evil because the Triforce had caused his wicked half to rule him._

_By the time the Goddesses had moved on to you, they'd learned their lesson. They didn't want another Ganondorf. They didn't want the Triforce of Courage to corrupt the good within you into greed. So, they did what any normal deity would do; before they gave you the Triforce of Courage, they extracted every dark part within you. They took all your loathing, your selfishness, your reckless anger, and everything utterly "evil" about you, and thus, created me. _

_We're really two sides of the same coin, you and I. If you wanted, I suppose you could be called the "good" half, and I would be the "evil" half. But I've already told you that the world is impossible to define with just those two terms."_

_He, no longer bothering to keep up the pretense of battle, stared sightlessly at his shadow. There was truth in the phantom's words, and he knew that much. It certainly enlightened quite a bit. It explained why he was never truly able to hate Ganondorf, no matter what the King of Evil did to him; he was only able to feel a sort of righteous indignation. All the beings he killed in order to free the sages were slain with a similar mindset. He was not destroying a sentient creature; he was completing a heroic deed, ridding the world of vile monsters. There was glory in that. There had never been any vindicated reason for true, wrathful violence in his mind. _

"_You know I'm telling the truth, don't you? You understand now. Your entire life, you've been little more than a gelding sent into the roar of battle. Every time you wanted to feel hatred, to lie, to do something "evil," you couldn't; it was like having a gag in your mouth while you attempted to scream." The shadow paused, its eyes glittering with something akin to triumph. "I'm right, aren't I?"_

_So swiftly that he didn't even realize he'd done it, his sword flashed forward and stood boldly underneath the phantom's chin. _

_The phantom just looked amused, although there was a hint of resignation in its expression. "You cannot kill me, Link."_

_His eyes flashed defiantly, and he pressed the sword closer._

"_I never said you wouldn't; I said you cannot," the shadow explained further, not seeming to be bothered by the blade at its throat. "Haven't you heard anything I've said? I am a part of you, of us, and I will continue to exist for as long as you do. Which, judging by your current state, will be a very long time indeed."_

_He clenched his jaw in frustration, and he nearly pushed the sword deeper. He wished the shadow would get straight to the point instead of dancing around with theatrics. _

"_You are not complete, Link, and incomplete souls are not allowed to rest," the phantom explained gently, a condescending tone coating its words. "Until you are whole, you will wander time endlessly. You cannot live eternally in only the light; eventually, you will wither under its blaze." The phantom reached a hand forward and slowly lowered the sword at his neck. His hand snaked down the blade. "Whether or not you like it, I am a missing piece of you. Someday, you will have to accept me into your spirit."With a sudden, violent movement, the phantom reached down further and wrested the sword from his lighter half's grip. With a fluid, deadly grace, the shadow sunk the steel into a blue-clad right shoulder; the garment became dark violet as blood blossomed from the wound. The phantom plucked a midnight hair from his head and sunk it into the pulsing gash. _

"_And until that day, I'll always be close by."_

_He sank to the floor, stunned and silently howling in pain. The constrained feeling of not being able to feel anger or hate toward his assailant was almost more painful than the wound in his shoulder._

_His eyes scanned the room for his shadow, but the creature seemed to have disappeared for good this time. With great effort, he tore the blade from his horrible wound. He quickly attempted to staunch the wound, but he came upon a surprising fact after a minute or two._

_The gash was quickly closing on its own._

_He watched—horrified, fascinated—as a black, jagged scar replaced the gaping wound._

* * *

"Why are you here?" Zelda pressed. She wanted to know why, after all these years, he'd sought her out again. It was obvious he didn't care much for her, so his reason wasn't companionship. Or maybe it was, now that she thought about it. She was probably the only person in this world who knew so much about him, who had shared so much with him. Perhaps he just wanted to warm his hands by the fire of familiarity.

He looked for answers within his scotch glass; it looked as if he was trying to read the ice cubes like tea leaves. After a few moments of silent contemplation, he made a decision. He set his glass down and reached inside one of his overcoat's pockets. His fingers rummaged for a few seconds within the compartment before finding their goal; he then tossed what he'd been searching for on the counter.

A golden engagement ring shimmered, spinning on its side, before clattering into a motionless state.

"Do you know the significance of this?" Link asked her, gesturing to the glittering diamond.

Zelda nodded slightly, perplexed and wondering if she should be nodding. He had to know she knew what an engagement ring looked like, so surely there was more behind his question. An ominous feeling trickled down her spine.

"This used to belong to a lovely woman named Charlotte," he began, picking up the ring and examining it with his fingers. "As far as women go, she was by far one of the most tolerable I've ever met. You want to know what happened to her?"

"Not really, no," Zelda truthfully admitted. She had a feeling where this was going.

"She got shot the night before our wedding," Link continued ruthlessly. His face was carefully blank, his tone emotionless. "It was just one shot, but it managed to hit her square in the heart. And, maybe it was just me, but I thought sure I knocked her to the side before the bullet hit her. She died before I could even call for an ambulance." He fingered the band one last time before slipping it back into his pocket. He turned to face her as a sarcastic, dark smirk distorted his features. "There're only so many times that can happen before it ceases to become coincidence."

"That's happened before?" Zelda asked, truly startled. Sympathy immediately coursed its way into her eyes, and she tried to force it back. She didn't think he would appreciate her pity.

"Well, the medium always changes. A couple centuries ago, it was poisoned wine. Later on, it was a misguided arrow. Once it was drowning," he listed, lazily counting them off on his fingers. "But two things are always the same: they all die, and they all die before I can marry them." He stared at her, a fathomless expression in his eyes. She thought for a moment it was rage, but a second later she thought it looked more like hunger.

"So," he continued, "that's one reason why I came here tonight. I want to know if you've experienced similar tragedies. We both seem to have an immortal soul, so maybe we're both damned from matrimony. It will only be a morbid comfort if you have the same situation, but at least then I'll know it's something far beyond my control." He paused and shook his head, a wry smile sneaking across his face as he closed his eyes. "That's not much of a comfort either, is it?" he whispered to himself.

Zelda fumbled for words, trying to find the right thing to say. After a moment, she realized there probably was no "right thing" to say without fabricating a horrendous lie. If anything, Link deserved the truth from her. She cleared her throat. "I honestly wouldn't know, Link. I haven't…I've always been unattached."

His eyes snapped open. "What?" he barked sharply, his eyes scanning hers intensely.

"I've never even been close to being engaged, Link. I've always pushed suitors away," Zelda explained, an embarrassed blush creeping through her capillaries.

"Why?" he asked suspiciously, watching and deciphering her every movement.

She'd never be able to lie to him, she knew. With the way he was scrutinizing her, she knew he would detect any falsehoods she threw at him. Besides, she'd already resolved to give him only the truth. Even if that truth was cruel, she had to say it.

"Because of you, Link. Because becoming involved with another man would have felt like I was committing adultery. Because I love you. Because I've always loved you," she stated evenly, working hard to keep her voice from trembling.

The violence roaring from his eyes was staggering; she was locked within his gaze, trapped. His arm muscles rippled until his fist clenched the scotch glass with undue force. A small, absurd part of Zelda's mind wondered if his hand would shatter the glass. She had no doubt that he could. His jaw clenched like a vise and then released, letting his mouth hang open slightly. He snapped his mouth shut again and tore his face from her line of sight.

After endless minutes of tense silence, he seemed to get himself under control. His voice, when he spoke, was careful and dangerously quiet. "Don't call it love, whatever this is. If you want…I guess you could call it _destiny_," he said derisively, sliding the scotch glass away in disgust.

"Why can't I call it love, Link? Why am I not allowed that much?" Zelda pleaded, uncontrollable tears stinging her eyes. Even as the questions flew from her mouth, she knew their answers. Still, she reached out an arm and held onto his shoulder desperately, trying to draw him back to her.

He shook her hand off roughly and stood up. "Because back when all this started, love wasn't enough for you." Without another word, he stormed out of the bar, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

_He wandered through three lifetimes before the strain of it broke him. _

_He might be missing a slew of dark emotions, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel pain. That didn't mean he couldn't feel lost, couldn't scream in anguish for his incompletion. He'd technically died three times, and each time had represented the ending of a different life. But his soul had lived on, as the shadow had predicted so long ago. Though his flesh was new with each life, his soul was still riddled with scars, and he knew they might never be healed. _

_There was another scar, too, that stayed with him through each life. The black scar his darker-half had left with him appeared on his body every time he was reborn. One time, it had been a birthmark identical to the scar in the exact place he'd been stabbed. Another time, he had gotten injured as a child, and when his stitches were removed, a replica of the original mark stood on his skin. _

_He thought it was interesting the scar was positioned so that it mirrored the heart on his left. It certainly acted like a heart sometimes, like a promise of what it was to be whole. Whenever he felt the desire to be angry, or to react violently to a situation, he'd find himself unable to express himself; the blood under his dark scar-heart, however, pulsed with an imitation of those emotions._

_He told himself that the Goddesses had known what they were doing when they had sundered his soul, but that logic weakened as time went on. Soon, he stopped resisting the "evil" that struggled to free itself._

_He decided to gamble on his shadow's promise._

_The phantom only found him when he wasn't looking, of course. It was toward the end of his fourth life, when he had given up on finding his darker-half long ago, that they were reunited. _

_It was born on a moonless night, in the silhouette of a tree reflected on the water. Slowly, it rose from the placid lake and walked toward its lighter-half, its steps patient and inevitable. When it finally stood before him, the shadow stretched out a hand, tenebrous and barely tangible, and smirked in victory. _

_He stretched out a trembling, wrinkled hand and clasped fingers with darkness. _

* * *

Zelda wasn't sure how long she, numb with shock, sat staring at the closed door. Silent tears were coursing their way down her face, but she didn't bother wiping them away. She'd known this would happen, somehow. Words can remain unspoken for only so long before they spill forth, and these words between them had been secreted away for far too much time.

She didn't cry for herself; she didn't deserve to wallow in self-pity. She cried for Link, for what she'd done to him. She'd never wanted to hurt him, but she'd learned long ago that good intentions are only that: intentions. Her actions were what mattered, and she knew she'd made too many abhorrent decisions in her past. There was no redeeming quality or choice she'd ever made to gloss over the many mistakes she'd committed.

She would never be forgiven for her errors, especially for the one that had haunted her every existence.

There had been a time, so very long ago, when she and Link had lived in the same place and at the same time: Hyrule. Back then, they had both been fairly new, their eyes fresh with the wonder of life. Though darkness had covered their land, aided by Zelda's foolish attempt to stop it, Hyrule became golden once more. Link had given all he had—his determination, his fighting prowess, his blood—in order to rid their land of evil. He had succeeded, and Zelda had been immensely grateful.

Behind that gratitude lurked another emotion, too. Although Zelda couldn't immediately define the reason why her blood quickened every time she saw him, why he had suddenly invaded her every thought, it was only a matter of time before it dawned on her.

As she stood with Link in an ageless realm, ready to send him back to his own time, she knew she loved him.

Her lips had hovered over the mouthpiece as she prepared herself to play the song. Just as the first, trembling note hit the air, Link raised his hand and rested it on the ocarina; slowly, he lowered the instrument.

Bravely, living up to the glowing mark on his left hand, he told her that he loved her.

With time reversed, they were once more children. However, their love for each other lingered within their unchanged spirits, and they rejoiced.

Zelda could tell that something was bothering him, although they were both happy with one another. So, she was not terribly surprised when Link told her he would be leaving for awhile. He explained that he needed to find Navi; he needed to know what had happened to her. Zelda knew how special the little fairy was to Link, so she sent him off with a smile and a wish for good fortune.

She had promised him, before he rode away, that she would always wait for him.

When he came riding back ten years later, he learned that she had betrayed that promise. A garish engagement ring glittered on her finger, and she hung on the arm of another man. The entire town celebrated her impending marriage, but she could only imagine how the cheers must have stung Link.

He visited her once after his return, but no words were spoken between them. They simply stared at one another under a night sky, trying to read the unspoken words tattooed in their heartbeats. Those few minutes of silence were, without a doubt, the most excruciating experience Zelda had known throughout all of her lifetimes.

He had eventually turned his back and walked away. That had been the last time she had seen him in that life.

Suddenly, Zelda sat up straight. How could she have forgotten?

She hopped off the barstool and shoved her way toward the door, her heart hammering in her chest. With violent impatience, she pushed the door open roughly and staggered outside. The cool night air hit her, contrasting with the heat from the bar that was loitering on her skin. Hot and cold met each other, stirring up a tornado of emotions within her.

Zelda, struggling to run as fast as she could in three-inch heels, jaywalked across the street recklessly. Several startled drivers honked at her furiously, but she paid them no mind.

She didn't know how she knew where she was going. She hadn't even seen Link in this life before tonight, and yet she found herself maneuvering through streets toward where she _knew_ she would find him.

She must have looked like she'd lost her mind. Her makeup was smudged from salty tears and the hasty fingers that had wiped them away. Her hair was tangled and mussed from dashing against the wind. One of her dress' straps had fallen off her shoulder, but she didn't pause to lift it to its proper place. She just kept running, her high heels clacking sharply against weathered pavement.

Finally, she found herself in front of two glass sliding doors. Ignoring the people in the lobby who stared at her as she sprinted in, she scanned the area for a sign pointing to a staircase or elevator.

After a moment of searching, she came face-to-face with two closed, metal doors. She pushed the button depicting an arrow pointing downward impatiently. With agonizing slowness, the elevator doors finally slid open.

Automatically, her finger pressed number seven on the list of floor levels. The elevator glided smoothly up the shaft, steadily swallowing the distance between Zelda and Link.

She attempted to calm herself as her destination drew closer. She tidied up her makeup as best she could. She lifted a hand to her hair and attempted to smooth the frazzled strands. She lifted the errant strap back into place.

At last, the doors slid open, revealing a lavish hotel hallway.

Robotically, relying on instinct, Zelda walked past dozens of similar doors. They may have all looked the same, but she knew there was only one that mattered to her.

She stood in front of Room 703, her blood pumping sickeningly. Closing her eyes, she raised a fist and knocked strongly against the door.

She waited for a few tense seconds, her hand poised in the air, before the door was opened.

Link leaned against the door and stared at her with an emotionless look in his eyes. "Well?" he prompted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I hadn't meant to lie…I'd just forgotten, somehow," Zelda explained hastily, stumbling over her words.

He just raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. His eyes flickered down the hall, and Zelda followed his gaze. Another hotel occupant was paused at his door, watching them. With a roll of his eyes, Link grabbed Zelda's arm and dragged her into his room. He shut the door with his foot, and it clicked closed behind them.

His eyes bored into her impatiently, demanding clarification for her rambling statement.

"Back when you asked if any of my fiancés had died, I'd told you I didn't know. But one of them did die. Charles was killed in a horseback riding accident a month before we were to be married. I don't know why it slipped my mind, but…" Zelda trailed off, not daring to look into Link's eyes. Charles had been the man she'd betrayed him for, back in Hyrule. "I never married him, Link, and I've forsaken all others since him. I will never forgive myself for what I did, but I…I hope…"

Thick silence coated the air between them, and Zelda found it hard to breathe.

"You hope what? That I'll suddenly toss everything under the rug and pretend nothing ever happened?" Link asked harshly, a caustic edge tingeing his voice. "I don't care that you never had the chance to marry him, Zelda. If he hadn't died, I'm sure the ceremony would have gone on as planned. Besides, your marriage to him was never what I was angry about. I'd been gone for ten years; I couldn't fault you if you'd fallen in love with another man in my absence. That would have been my mistake," Link admitted, his eyes narrowing. "No, what made me absolutely _infuriated_ was that you didn't even _like_ him, let alone love him. You hated him, but you still chose him over me," he snarled, his cold, contemptuous eyes freezing her where she stood.

Zelda opened and closed her mouth helplessly, her words muted with regret and understanding. She hadn't really expected her admission to change anything, but there had always been that part of her that had clung to a future with Link. That part now wept shamefully, crushed into splinters by the finality of Link's accusation.

"Still," Link continued to say, seeming to ignore the conversation they'd just had, "your little confession makes things a bit clearer. I think I might know why we both keep getting reborn, and what we can do to stop it."

"What?" Zelda was finally able to stammer out, curiosity startling her out of her stupor. Quickly, she swiped away the moisture that had pricked her eyelids. She could not afford these displays of weakness. Link was being kind, or uncaring, enough to ignore her emotion. That, more than anything, was reason enough for her to control herself; she, absurdly, didn't want there be anything about her that he had to ignore.

"It's only a theory, but I've had quite awhile to think on it. The idea came to me after I…found myself," Link started carefully. He glanced at her, apparently deciding how much he could trust her with. After a moment, he turned away, his shoulders slumping with a released sigh. "I wasn't always my entire self, Zelda. When I visited the water temple in Hyrule, I met my…other half. He told me that, in order to prevent corruption, I had been split into "good" and "evil" halves; the "good" half bore the Triforce of Courage, and the "evil" half was recruited by Ganondorf. We both walked as sentient, divided creatures, but we were connected at the core. He explained that he was a part of my spirit, and that I would never be complete until we were rejoined. He warned that if a soul is incomplete, it will never be able to rest, and time will carry that soul with it until it has assimilated its missing pieces. After living three separate lives, I finally believed him.

I accepted him into my spirit with full intention of laying my mind to rest. Even though I was whole again, though, it seemed I still wasn't allowed to die. I kept being reborn." Link looked over his shoulder at Zelda, a calculating look in his eyes. "You, too, have lived throughout all these years. I have a feeling that we both are still incomplete." He paused, letting the words soak into her skin. He turned to face her again, but his eyes were focused on the wall behind her, painting the plaster with memories of another time.

"The Goddesses thought they were doing me a favor when they split me in half. They thought they were protecting me from evil, even if that meant my soul could never have any respite. Maybe our current situation is a byproduct of that same charity. We loved each other once. Perhaps the Goddesses saw that love and determined we would live until we were able to be together.

That is why neither of us can get married to others; a marriage to anyone else would fail to complete us. Only by joining with each other can we finally become one," Link speculated, crossing his arms across his chest. Pensively, his fingers tapped against his arms, drumming a song only he could hear.

Zelda, meanwhile, found herself lost in thought. If what Link said was true, if this constant cycle could be halted…what would that mean? They would both finally face death as normal creatures? Could their souls finally scatter into the air, leaving behind all human pain as they wafted apart?

Briefly, Zelda wondered if heaven existed. If so, she doubted she would ever even glimpse its golden gates. Her soul was heavy with too many years' worth of sins, and she knew no amount of repentance could ever purify her.

Besides, she knew she could handle the alternative. She'd suffered the burning pain of dying screams, the blistering hatred of countless enemies, and the cold indifference of the only man she'd ever loved. Hell was something she knew how to live with.

Link's sudden movement snapped her out of her thoughts, and she watched him make his way across the room. He rummaged in the closet for something, and she saw the black fabric of his overcoat hanging behind the doors.

He marched over to her, a resolute set to his jaw and a gleaming ring in his hand. Wordlessly, he grabbed her left hand and lifted it toward his own.

Zelda recoiled as she recognized the diamond poised above her ring finger. That was a dead woman's ring.

But Link just rolled his eyes and slipped the band onto her slim finger.

He stepped away from her and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. Zelda watched him dial several numbers, watched his lips move in conversation, but she was deaf to whatever he was saying.

Her eyes flickered down to the ring on her finger, the physical embodiment of a promise she'd never expected to see proposed. She knew it was silly to be happy for something so trivial, especially when it was clear her fiancé wanted nothing to do with her, but she couldn't stop the slow smile from spreading across her face.

Link, who had snapped his cell phone shut and shoved it into his pocket, was looking at her with an indecipherable expression. He walked back over to the closet and pulled his overcoat out. As he slipped his arms into the sleeves, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Don't get so excited," he drawled, with a hint of dark amusement in his words. "You are nothing. You are simply a means to an end."

* * *

Zelda's teeth chattered as they walked down the sidewalk well past midnight. If not for the headlights and streetlamps casting sickly light through the darkness, she doubted she would have known where her own feet were. She couldn't even feel them; they were so numb with cold. She rubbed her arms, trying to generate warmth with the friction.

She felt something warm and heavy settle on her shoulders, and she looked beside her with alarm.

Thick black cloth partially obstructed her vision of a coat-less Link shoving his hands into his pockets.

Gratefully, she wrapped the dark overcoat around her, immediately feeling relief from its warmth. She turned to thank Link, but he cut her off just as she parted her lips.

"Don't. I just didn't want you to freeze to death before we could test this out." A ghost of a smile flickered on his mouth. "I don't want to have to live through another century or two, you know." He pulled his left hand out of his pocket and squinted at something on his wrist; a silver watch, previously hidden by the overcoat, gleamed orange as they passed under a streetlight.

"Do you ever wonder what happened to it all?" Zelda mused aloud, watching a police car wail past them. "The magic, the Goddesses…whatever happened?"

"If they had any sense, they left this corpse of a world long ago," Link answered, thrusting his hand back into his pocket, and Zelda felt no protest in her heart as she drank in the words.

As they turned the corner, a small chapel reared in front of them, its stained-glass windows twinkling faintly in the moonlight. Link grasped one of the wooden doors by a cast-iron handle and heaved it open. A thick, musty scent crawled out of the open door, mingling with the smog of the city. Wordlessly, Link gestured for her to step inside. Once they were both beyond the threshold, he turned and closed the heavy door behind them.

A man sat slumped at the altar, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

"Thanks for doing this, Nick," Link said as they both walked toward the silhouetted man.

Nick waved the gratitude aside and replied sarcastically, "Think nothing of it. I just love waking up at two in the morning and marrying a pair of drunkards." Almost as an afterthought, he glanced at them shrewdly. "You both _are_ sober, aren't you?"

"Sober enough," Link replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"Alright then," Nick said, taking a sip of coffee afterward. He gestured grandly with the other hand, sweeping it toward the empty pews. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here—"

"Nick," Link growled warningly.

"Alright, alright. Link, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife for richer or poorer, etcetera, etcetera, as long as you both shall live?" Nick asked, staring boredly at Link.

"I do."

"And…you…whoever you are—"

"Zelda," she interjected, a flush spreading across her cheeks.

"Yes, Zelda, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, same list of criteria, for as long as you both shall live?"

"Yes, I do," Zelda answered quietly, absentmindedly twisting the ring on her finger.

"Wonderful. By the powers vested in me, you are now husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, and I am out of here," Nick finished, taking another swig of his caffeinated beverage. He held out a hand as he passed Link, and Link slapped some money into his palm.

"Oh," Nick said, wheeling back around. He dug a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Link. "Your marriage license; I forged the witness' signature, so you're good to go."

His footsteps echoed through the vaulted ceiling as he left, and the tremors of the slammed door vibrated through them both as they stood there.

"Well," Link began, "do you feel any different? More complete, in any way?"

Zelda just shook her head silently.

"I guess we'll know at the end of this life, won't we?" Link said somewhat dejectedly, and he started walking briskly toward the double doors. Zelda struggled to keep up with his long paces, and she just barely slipped outside before he slammed the door.

She knew something was wrong even before she saw dark figures emerging from the shadows. She struggled wildly as she felt hands clasp around her waist and throat; she stood stone still as she felt a smooth, metal presence at her temple.

"Don't move," a low voice growled, and Zelda was quick to follow those instructions.

She had clear sight of Link, who had been restrained in a similar way. Three men held his body and head still, and another was circling him slowly, like a shark. "Link, Link, Link," the shark chided, "didn't your mother ever tell you not to wander around at night?"

Short, obligatory laughter rose from the shark's men, and it made Zelda sick.

Link opened his mouth, likely to make a sharp retort, and the shark stuck the barrel of a gun past his open lips. "Talk," he dared, "Just try it. See what happens." Link narrowed his eyes defiantly, but didn't attempt to speak. "Good. I'd hate to have to shoot a hole in your throat; I've got a message for you to deliver. Tell your dear old 14K comrades that we expect—"

But whatever he'd been going to say was drowned out by a police siren, like the one Zelda had heard earlier.

Without preamble, the shark lifted the gun from Link's mouth and shot him three times in succession. "That'll have to do as far as a message goes," he muttered, and gestured for his men to scatter. They slipped into the night, leaving behind a grumbled phrase: "I hate the incorruptible ones."

Numb with shock, Zelda stumbled toward Link, who had suddenly crumpled to the ground. One hand was clutching his thigh, and the other was clenched against his chest. Sharp breaths were sucked into his gritted teeth, and his eyes squinted against the agony.

Her hands shaking, Zelda ripped a strip of fabric from the hem of her dress. She wrapped the fabric around the wound in his thigh, desperately trying to staunch the blood flow.

Link just shook his head weakly at her efforts. "Don't bother," he coughed out, red tingeing his lips. He lifted his hand from his chest to reveal two jagged holes, one on each side of his chest.

Zelda, her eyes blurred, tore off another piece of fabric, unwilling to give in.

Link stopped her effectively by lifting a bloody hand to her face, shakily tracing her features. "We never…finished the ceremony, you know," he gasped out, smiling weakly.

Zelda could only watch, uncomprehending, as his eyes crinkled with laughter.

"For someone…who once carried the Triforce of Wisdom…you're not very smart sometimes," he whispered, and pulled her unresisting face closer to his. With as much passion and ardor as his dying body could muster, he pressed his lips to hers and thoroughly kissed his bride.

As their lips parted, he fell backward onto the grass heavily. A sudden, final thought seemed to occur to him, and he lifted a weak hand to the buttons on his shirt. His fingers fumbled for a second before Zelda intervened, quickly undoing his shirt for him.

He peeled the fabric away from his skin, and he turned his head to stare at the right side of his chest.

Something about the bullet wound sparked a reaction within him, and he erupted into quiet, humorless laughter.

"Now…" he murmured, blood leaking from the corner of his lips, "now, I am complete."

Zelda held her breath as he exhaled his last, and then she dissolved into agony. She felt his blood caking her face like sanguinary teardrops, felt the ghost of his lips upon hers from when he had said goodbye.

With a sad smile, she closed his eyelids tenderly and cupped his cooling jaw. She wondered if they _were _complete now, if his soul was free from the never-ending cycle that had chased them through the centuries. She only hoped he was finally at peace.

"Link…I never want to see you again, understand?" she whispered, her throat constricting with a knot of grief.

Her sobbing muscles failed her, and she collapsed on top of his body. Her head lolled backward into the crook of his arm, and she didn't bother to move. As she lay pressed against him, she prayed—to whatever deity that circled their empty world—for his freedom.

Underneath her ear, she heard a faint, steady sound vibrating through Link's skin; his watch, its place of honor undisturbed, continued to count the seconds as they passed.


End file.
